What's This?
by xhere.there.nowherex
Summary: AU story, only because it was written in October.  Christmas present for my lovely friends *wink wink*
1. Chapter 1

HAPPY CHRISTMAS.

This is a present for my lovely Fringey friends.

I wrote this all the way back in October. While I was in Calc. Maybe that's why I ended up dropping the course. And changing my major. WHATEVER. I DO WHAT I WANT.

This is just how I imagined them carrying out the Peter/Olivia arc. GUESS I WAS WRONG. Hot damn.

T for suggestive...situations.

Spoilers up to Do Shapeshifters Dream of Electric Sheep

Enjoy!

* * *

It's six-thirty Thursday evening. It also happens to be the night before Christmas Eve. Broyles decided that everyone had had just about enough and deserved a holiday off, regardless of what came up. So the lab is completely deserted when Olivia walks in and heads to her office. She's been back a little over a month, but she spent the majority of that time in Massive Dynamic's Experimental Campus rehab facility reacclimating to this side and undergoing treatments to reverse whatever they did to her over there. Essentially, Olivia was trying to become herself again. It was a painfully tedious process separating herself from her alternate, and she undoubtedly believed that had it not been for the cortexiphan she'd been treated with as a child, it would've been impossible. Weird mind-altering drug trials aside, she was getting better, albeit restless.

It was a lot to process; what happened to her over there, what happened over here in her absence. She felt as though thousands of thoughts were flying through her mind at 200 miles per hour, with no intention of slowing down. She also simultaneously wanted to get back to work, but realised she needed the time off. She was frustrated though. She hadn't seen anyone outside of the scientists employed directly by the facility. Not that they hadn't tried to see her, nor that she didn't want to see them. It was doctor's orders, apparently to speed up the process by isolating her. Supposedly before she'd be able to transition fully back into society, she had to transition fully back into herself. It didn't really make much sense to her, but she had no say in the matter. She missed her sister and her niece something awful, and suddenly wondered how she'd ended up at the lab when just thirty minutes ago she'd been seated on the couch with them watching "The Santa Clause." She huffed loudly and began reorganising everything in her office. An hour later found her sitting amidst case files that were strewn haphazardly across the floor. Olivia glanced at the drawer of her desk that contained a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. She thought it wouldn't hurt, and as she looked at the next file she was about to crack open, she figured it would probably be necessary.

OLIVIA DUNHAM, BETA UNIVERSE. She swallowed hard as she flicked open the file folder. Olivia poured over every painstaking detail of her alternate's time here, in her universe, in her apartment, in her bed, with her Peter. She grumbled out a frustrated sigh. Peter's debrief was in there. In it, he explained everything, with obvious discretion, that had transpired between himself and the other her. God it made her feel sick. She had to read that they'd had their first time as a couple, except it wasn't her. Olivia had had it all planned out in her head, a lovely dinner, a few glasses of wine, a walk in the park beneath the stars. Something completely cheesy and cliche because at least in that respect, they could be somewhat close to normal. Well, that was all shot to hell now. She snapped the file shut and slammed it down onto the floor. Olivia was angry. She felt hurt and betrayed and maybe a little sad. She organised the files of the cases that had been investigated by her alternate chronologically, and then put them away.

She sat leaning against her desk staring at the floor a good bit while contemplating her fourth glass of whiskey. Olivia was so lost in thought that she hadn't heard the doors to the lab open, nor the footsteps that echoed softly off of the lab walls. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she acknowledged, based off of the sound of rummaging, that someone else was in the lab. It wasn't until the person had actually spoken to her that she realised his presence and withdrew from her thoughts.

"Hey," Peter spoke softly, his tone cautious, "you're back."

Olivia's gaze snapped up to meet his. She did not rise off the floor, nor did she speak to him. She simply stared at him. To be honest, she couldn't decide on what exactly she wanted, or needed, to say to him. So, she remained silent, staring at him, or as he felt it, through him, to the very core of his being.

Her gaze was piercing and painful. Peter swallowed hard. She knew. He knew that she knew what he had done. He was certain that the immense guilt and remorse and self-hatred that he felt was not nearly enough. Looking at her confirmed it.

"Broyles said you wouldn't be back in until Monday. I just came by to...Walter needed...insisted that..." he wasn't speaking in complete sentences, because the thoughts in his head were fragmented, just as broken as the two of them.

She still wasn't speaking to him, but her gaze never left his. He shivered involuntarily. At that, Olivia reached over into her drawer, pulled out the other glass, and raised it in his direction. She made a gesture that indicated he could join her, if he wanted, so he sat and she poured. Their fingers brushed as she handed him the glass, and Olivia immediately recoiled and looked away. He knew that look. He'd seen it before, usually right before somebody throws up. Great. Now he made her sick. Admittedly, he made himself sick too.

He was watching her. She could feel his eyes burning into the back of her neck. Olivia could almost feel him blink his momentary confusion at what was there. She couldn't stand it any longer, so finally, she turned her face towards his. Olivia studied his face for a while. She saw an apology written all over his dark features. She could tell he hadn't been sleeping, or shaving regularly, if the thick scruff on his face were any indication. His clothes were wrinkled and he looked disheveled. Part of Olivia was glad that he was as messed up about this as she was, but the part of her that made her cross universes to save him ached for him, and for her. But he hadn't even so much as made an attempt to visit her, which made her slightly bitter. So, she did what she knew had to be done. She confronted him.

"How could you not know?" Her question was simple, but it's meaning was far more complex than her words could convey.

Peter swallowed and sighed. His eyes couldn't meet hers. How was he supposed to tell her that somewhere, deep inside his brain, he knew it wasn't her, that he just wasn't willing to bring it to the surface because he didn't want it to be true? How do you tell that to the one person in the world who you've trusted more than anyone ever? He figured he'd give it a shot. What else had he to lose?

"I did know," he spoke quietly, looking directly at her. The look of pure, unadulterated horror on her face forced him to clarify quickly, "I mean, I could tell _she_ was not _you_, but I didn't know she _wasn't_ you. It hadn't even crossed my mind that she could be her. I didn't think..." he was stumbling and she watched as he helplessly offered up his explanation.

"I didn't think," he stated definitively. He didn't pull out any excuses. He also didn't say 'I'm sorry' because that phrase didn't even begin to cover it. She deserved better than that. He wanted to give her better. He just didn't know how. So he couldn't. Her gaze left his, and she stared straight ahead.

"She's nothing like me," Olivia whispered.

"I know," his voice was gravelly and plagued with sadness.

"I thought you knew me better than that," she was still whispering, and maybe she was crying. Peter couldn't tell because she wouldn't look at him and he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Those words stung him more than anything ever had. He had almost anticipated them, but hoped against them. He didn't have anything to say back to that.

"How could you do this to _us_?" Her last four words were just barely a decible above slience, and she was most certainly crying.

Peter instantly reached out for her. He took her hand in his, and with his other hand, he wiped at her tears. He needed her, but she shyed away from him.

"No," she uttered in protest, "don't."

She withdrew her hand from his, and they sat in silence for several seconds before he heard her sharp intake of breath. He could tell something was off, and he looked at her with great concern. She was staring at something. He followed her gaze. There was nothing there, at least, nothing he could see.

"Olivia," came a taunting voice.

She stared at him. He was sitting right next to her, so how could he also be standing five feet in front of her? She looked from him, to the real him, sitting next to her, and then back to _him_. She sucked in a gasp. She thought for sure that she'd stop seeing him now that she was back here. She hadn't seen him since her return, so why she'd be hallucinating at this particular moment was lost on her.

"Olivia," he called to her again.

"You're not here. You shouldn't be here," she whispered to her hallucination.

"Olivia? What are you talking about? I'm sitting right here next to you," Peter cut in.

"I'm not talking to you," she answered, and looked towards her hallucination again.

"What do you want from me?" She asked the hallucination. Her voice trembled slightly.

"I don't want anything from you, sweetheart," it smirked at her, "I'm just here to tell you what you already know, because you won't admit it to yourself."

"Admit what?" She was cleary upset.

"Olivia, who are you talking to? What do you see?" Peter's tone was pleading. He was trying to help. It was useless. She remained focused on whatever it was she was seeing.

"You need me, Olivia. Not your hallucinatory version of me, but that one," it pointed at Peter, so her gaze followed, "You _need_ him. That man, sitting right there next to you, just as shattered as you are, you need him. He needs you, too. _You need each other._ The only people who can fix the two of you, are you" it looked pointedly at her, "and him."

"No," she stated angrily, pushing up off the floor, "I don't need you."

Peter sat there watching as Olivia stormed out of the lab into the cold winter snow. He was left to wonder whether her last statement was meant for him or whomever she thought she was talking to. He guessed it was probably meant for both.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter wanted to find out what was going on. He needed to know. He knew he couldn't confront Olivia about it, because she'd just shut down. Furthermore, he wasn't sure he was up to facing her again so soon. His guilt was still eating away at him furiously. So he left the lab and headed for the Federal builiding. On his way there, his phone rang. He glanced at it knowingly. Walter.

"Hello, Walter," he answered.

"Peter? You've been gone an awfully long time. Are you, are you alright?" Walter spoke softly into the phone.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied.

"Oh," Walter hesitated, "did you find what I asked for?"

"Yes, Walter," Peter sighed.

"Splendid! When will you be home, son?" Whatever emotion that had tinged Walter's voice was now replaced with excitement.

"There's something I've got to take care of first," he explained.

"Alright, well, hurry up before your cocoa gets cold!" Walter warned.

Peter smiled and shook his head as he hung up. Maybe he should just go home. Home to his father, and his quirks, and drink his cocoa while they watched old movies (what he'd been sent to the lab for). It was neutral territory. He was safe there. He didn't have to deal with his betrayal or his self-hatred there. No. He knew he had to do this. He needed to know. He needed to understand what she went through, what they'd done to her. Which is why he ended up behind Broyles' desk, something he'd never ever let Broyles know, searching for the file.

He sat back when he found it. He wasn't sure he was really ready to read this. He opened it anyway. It was filled with sheet after sheet written by the doctors that had helped fix her once she'd come back, along with her debrief. As he poured over it, he felt his heart sink into his stomach, and he wanted to vomit. She'd been held captive in a dark cell for several days, was treated with drugs he'd never even heard of, he suspected they only existed over there, as well as her alternate's B-lymphocytes. He instantly understood what they'd done to her. They had made his Olivia into her. Peter continued reading. She'd managed to escape, a small smile gracing his lips at this very Olivia-like act, but had then returned of her own volition, which caused his brows to knit. Obviously the treatments had been successful, because he saw that she had gone on solving cases with Charlie, which made him feel a tinge of sadness, and some man named Lincoln Lee. They found her at her mother's house. Her mother was alive over there. He knew how that felt. Peter quickly skimmed over the rest of the file, until he read over _it._ That thing he'd been looking for. His confirmation. It was right there, towards the very end of her debrief. She had been hallucinating over there. It was written off as a side-effect of the drugs in her system. Olivia didn't say what, or rather, who, she saw while she hallucinated, so he'd actually have to ask her about that if he ever wanted to know. And he did want to know, because he does care about her. Sighing, he carefully put the file back in its place, grabbed his jacket, and headed home, back to Walter with his hot cocoa and old movies.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey," Rachel called from the sofa as Olivia came through the door.

Olivia had been staying with Rachel. She couldn't stay in that place; she couldn't stay where they'd done _that_. Olivia had burned her furniture. Well, at least her couch and her bed, and two of her chairs. She'd also gotten rid of most of her clothing. Everything else she'd moved into a storage unit, until she could find a new apartment far, far away from her old one. Rachel insisted Olivia stay with her until she found a place, and told her she could take as long as she needed. Luckily for Olivia, Rachel knew better than to ask questions. That was until she saw Olivia come home crying.

"Hey," Olivia answered in a soft, raspy voice.

"Liv? Have you been crying? Are you alright?" Rachel voiced her concern.

"I'm fine. Where's Ella?" Olivia shrugged it off.

"Olivia, it's after nine. She's in bed. Are you sure you're okay? Did something happen? Where'd you go?" Rachel was unrelenting.

"I said I'm fine, Rach. I'm just going to go to bed," she rocked on her heels, wiped at her tears, and headed in the direction of the spare room.

Just as Olivia was rolling over to turn off the lamp on the nightstand, she heard him again.

"You didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily now, did you?" He spoke, his tone teasing.

She whipped her head around as she rolled over to face him, and screamed. He was lying next to her in bed. In nothing but boxers. Olivia's eyes widened in horror.

"What?" He asked as she looked him up and down.

"C'mon. I know you like what you see," he goaded.

Her gaze settled on that of her hallucination and she eyed him suspiciously.

"What are you doing here?" Olivia demanded.

"I," he said, as he shifted closer to her, his leg brushing against hers, "am here to remind you," his hand ran through her blonde hair, over her shoulder, down her side, and came to rest on her hip, "of what you want," he pinned her beneath him and she froze, "because it's what you need."

She felt lips pressed firmly against her neck, where her collar bone joined her shoulder and she tried desperately to push this thing off of her. This was not Peter. She knew that. This was something her subconscious mind had projected into her consciousness, and she desperately needed it to go away.

"Stop," she stated firmly.

It didn't.

"Stop it!" She shouted louder this time.

It paused to look down at her, "Why? I know this is what you want. I'm merely a projection of your own mind. I know you, Olivia. I am a part of you."

She shoved it off of her while screaming, "Get off of me! Just, get off! You are not him! I do not want you, I want him! GET _OFF!_"

Olivia briefly realized what she had just admitted, and unwillingly accepted it, gasping. With that, her hallucination simply smirked at her, and disappeared. She knew that it was gone for good this time, but she was still shaken, which explained why she was now barricaded in the bathroom, her body wracked with uncontrollable sobs.

Moments later, Rachel was pounding on the door to the bathroom, "Olivia. Olivia! Let me in! What's going on? Olivia! Liv? C'mon, Liv!"

The only sounds coming out of the bathroom were those of Olivia crying, almost hysterically. Rachel suspected that she'd finally broken, and was having a meltdown. It scared Rachel, because Olivia had always been the strong one. She was running through a mental list of things she could do. None of them seemed fitting for this particular situation, so she did the only thing she could really think to do. She dialed a number.

She tapped her foot impatiently as it rang, and when the person on the other line answered, she spoke so quickly she barley understood herself, "There's something wrong with Olivia."

"What?" the person questioned, sounding worried.

"I don't know what happened. One minute she was in bed and she was fine. Then the next she was screaming like she was scared out of her mind," Rachel explained in a panicked tone, "She's locked herself in the bathroom and I can't get her to come out. She's in there crying. I don't know what to do." Rachel started crying.

Through her sobs, Rachel heard the person on the other end say, "I'm on my way." Then the line went dead.

Rachel heard Ella's tiny feet padding across the floor before she heard her speak, "Mommy? Is aunt Liv going to be okay?"

Rachel hugged her daughter tightly, "Yes, baby. Aunt Liv is going to be just fine." She looked at her, and smiled, "Let's get you back to bed."

Fifteen minutes later, there was urgent and intrusive knocking on Rachel's apartment door. She swung it open and stepped back to let Peter in.

"I'm sorry," she started, "I'm sorry if I interrupted you, but I didn't know who else to call."

Peter watched her wipe at her tears. He hugged her briefly, and grasped her shoulders.

"Where is she?" He asked gently.

"She's in there," Rachel said, pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

Peter took off in that direction and started banging on the door. Rachel shushed him, indicating that he needed to be careful to not wake Ella, and he softened it to simply rapping his knuckles against the wood.

"Olivia?" he called to her.

He heard her grumble something unintelligble from within as she continued crying. She had somewhat calmed down, so her sobs were muffled.

"Olivia, it's me," he stated, "Will you let me in?"

"Go away," she groaned out.

"Livia, please," he jiggled the knob, his voice pathetically pleading, "please let me in."

"No," her voice was soft but firm, "leave me alone."

"Olivia, I'm not going to let you in there. You have to come out eventually; you can't stay in there forever," Peter sighed heavily, then added, "I'm not leaving until I see you out of this bathroom, Livia."

He slid down the door and sat with his back leaning against it. He heard her inch her way to the door and do the same. He wasn't sure whether or not she would let him in. The truth of the matter was that _she_ wasn't sure whether or not she would be letting him in. Fifteen minutes later, both Peter and Rachel heard the door unlock. Rachel backed out of the room to give them space. Peter waited several seconds but the door didn't open. She wasn't going to come out. He was going to have to go in after her. He slowly turned the doorknob and carefully pushed the door open. There she sat, back leaning against the tub, knees hugged to her chest, staring down at her bare feet. Even now, she looked so beautiful to him, and the tightness in his chest intensified.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, he sat across from her, leaning against a cabinet. He watched her intently before speaking, "I know what happened to you earlier."

Her head snapped up and her eyes shot to his, searching. She was trying to tell whether or not he actually knew.

"I read your file," he decided to be honest with her, regardless of the consequences.

This didn't seem to phase her. She simply blinked at him and waited for him to continue.

"Olivia," he was getting choked up, but he pressed on, "what they did to you. It's. I can't even begin to. What they did is completely inexcusable; it's not okay, and I'm not okay with it. And you. You're. I..." he exhaled heavily, "I'm so sorry, Livia. This is all...this is all my fault."

She held his gaze steady. "No," she countered, "it's not."

He looked at her and the honesty in her eyes was enough to kill him. She doesn't hold him responsible, at least for that. But the other thing he knows is his fault, so he doesn't let himself off the hook, not yet. Maybe not ever.

He waited several minutes before he continued, "I know about the hallucinations."

As soon as the words leave his lips the air grows thick and the silence is heavy. Her eyes drift slowly from his to her feet. She doesn't speak, and if he's not mistaken, she's also holding her breath.

"Olivia," he shifts and moves closer to her, but not close enought to be in her space, "what..._who_ did you see?"

She doesn't look up from her feet and when she speaks he can barely hear her because she says it so quietly, "You."

She risks a glance at him and he's sitting there, blinking stupidly at her in confusion. He's not sure he heard her right, and she's not sure he's heard her at all, so she repeats herself, louder this time, "I saw you."

"Me?" He's not sure he wants to believe her, because the implications of her seeing him are too much for him to process right now.

"Yeah, I saw Walter once too," she smiles at the absurdity of that and looks down. Her hair falls in front of her face. She absent-mindedly tucks it behind her ear, and Peter absent-mindedly thinks it's sort of adorable, but doesn't focus on that right now.

"Why me?" He wants to know.

"Isn't it obvious?" She asks, and then explains, "I trust you, Peter. You make me feel safe. Obviously it was my mind's way of protecting me."

He accepts her rationalization because it's true, and her confession touches him. He's also taken slightly aback because she's speaking in present tense rather than past, and she's being open, which isn't like her. But she's so broken right now, she's been through so much, and she needs somebody to reach out to, just like he does.

He stares at her for a while, and she lets him. He backs away from her until he's leaning against the cabinet again.

Peter sighs and then speaks again, "I should've known."

Olivia watches him intently, and she does that thing with her mouth. Several minutes of silence pass between them, but it isn't awkward like they both expect it to be. Peter watches as Olivia's body relaxes, and she streches out her beautifully long legs. He stares at them, and she notices. It makes her feel selfconscious, so she tucks them under her, to the side. Peter's eyes drift slowly back to her face, and she's tensed up again, deep in thought. After a while, she looks back up at him decisively. She's made up her mind about something, and as she starts to open her mouth, Peter braces himself for impact.

"It's," she's speaking softly, carefully, "I wouldn't have known." She pauses, and watches as an argument plays across his face, but she cuts him off, "Peter."

It silences him immediately. It's the first time he's heard _her_ say his name in months. Her voice is breathy, yet firm and it sounds like heaven on her lips. He swallows back tears that he refuses to let fall. Olivia streches her legs out again until they're aside his, and looks him straight in the eye.

"I understand, Peter," her voice is determined and she's speaking with purpose, "You shouldn't have known, because you couldn't possibly have known that they would've pulled something like that." She holds his gaze, ensuring that he's listening to her every word, "Besides, it's not like you weren't preoccupied with other things." Olivia's eyes flicker to the floor, then quickly back to his. If Peter's reading her correctly, then he can tell she's afraid.

He interrupts her, "Preoccupied with what, Olivia?"

She looks at him, trying to decide whether or not he wants her to say it. She goes for it anyway.

"That...thing," she whispers at first, then speaks a little louder, "It's terrifying. I haven't slept the night through in months. At first, I'd just wake up in the middle of the night for no reason." She takes in a deep breath, and stares at a spot on the wall as she continues, "Then after I came back, I started having this...this nightmare. The same one, every night. That, whatever it is, it's there, and you're there, and there's nothing I can do to stop it, no matter what I try, and I feel so helpless. I was there, Peter. I lived there for months, I know what it's like, watching your world slip through your fingertips and fall apart." She's hugging her knees to her chest again, and hiding her face because tears have started tracing silent patterns down her cheeks. "I don't want to have to go through that again. I just want to be able to stop it."

Peter sat there, stunned into silence. He's shocked at what she's just told him. She gets it. Everything that he'd been feeling over the past few months, Olivia understands almost completely. The more he thought about it as he sat there, unable to look at her, he realises that it shouldn't suprise him so. Out of all the people he's ever known in his entire life, she'd be the one to get it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had hoped she would get it, but when she didn't, the _other_ her, didn't, he had brushed it off. But his Olivia, if she was even still his, she got it. She knew. She understood him. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He still felt sullied and unclean from what he'd done.

So he spoke to her instead, in a muffled, guilt-ridden, pain-filled tone, "I know."

"I'm scared," she whispered, looking up at him.

"Me too," he acknowledged honestly.

Olivia's eyes never left his as she rose from the floor. She took his hand and pulled him up. She walked him out of the bathroom and over to the bed.

"Olivia," he was about to protest, and tell her all the reasons that he couldn't.

"No," she knew what he thought this meant, "It's just...I...I don't want to be alone." She repeated her earlier confession, "I'm scared." She was scared. She also had become accustomed to sleeping next to someone. It was hard being alone for the last month.

Olivia climbed into the bed, and he walked around to the other side and slid in behind her. She leaned back into him, but would not face him, which wasn't surprising. There were times when he couldn't even face himself. However, it did surprise him when she wrapped his arm around her, and he took advantage of the moment by greedily breathing in the scent of her. She smelled distinctly different from the other her. She smelled warm and safe, it was nice. Lying in bed curled around her was nice, something he'd not experienced with the other. She was always cold and distant, lying as far from him as possible. He should've known. Peter closed his eyes in self-disgust and let out a heavy breath. He opened his eyes again, and his gaze fell on her tattooed neck.

He couldn't resist asking, "What _is_ that?"

"What?" she responded, not moving.

"The tattoo, on the back of your neck. What does it mean?" he inquried.

"Oh, that. I don't really know. It's hers. Her boyfriend has one. I think they got them to match," she answered, and he felt more than heard her snicker slightly at that.

He smiled at her silent, barely detectable laughter. He thought briefly that maybe they'd be okay again one day after all.

"Goodnight, Olivia," he whispered into her hair.

"Goodnight, Peter," she replied softly.

Then they both closed their eyes, and for the first time in months, the only thing they saw was blackness, and as they drifted off, they dreamt of nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

Olivia officially came back to work on a Monday. More specifically, the Monday after Christmas. A Christmas which Peter and Olivia celebrated separately. When they woke up the morning after they'd slept in the same bed, it hadn't been awkward, but it had been hard for both of them. Every time Olivia looked at Peter, or thought about him, she still saw him with the other her; horrible scenarios that played out in her mind. Every time Peter looked at Olivia, he was reminded of his betrayal. He remembered in vivid, painful detail what he had done, and it tormented him. So, for three days they avoided each other completely.

Monday was tense. In fact, the whole week was tense. It was never awkward between them, neither of which could fathom why, because it should have been awkward. It was just tense. Then Friday evening rolled around, and it was New Year's Eve. Rachel was having a party. Olivia's attendance was mandatory. Olivia asked Peter if he and Walter would come, because she didn't really know any of Rachel's friends and she didn't want to be the odd one out. Olivia hated standing out in a crowd. Peter said yes mostly because Walter insisted, and they really didn't have anything else to do that night. Also, Astrid was going to be there, so maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Peter sat on the sofa and watched as Astrid chased after Walter for most of the evening. Olivia busied herself by running back and forth, aiding her sister in hosting the soiree. He noticed Rachel glance quickly at him and then lean over to whisper something in Olivia's ear. Whatever Rachel said made Olivia smile and he saw a small laugh gently shake her shoulders. It was the first time Peter had seen her look genuinely happy in a very long time. Suddenly, his view was blocked by a tiny brunette who looked to be about twenty-eight.

"Hi," she said, giving him what he imagined she thought to be her most winsome smile.

He simply looked at her unphased.

"I'm Candice," she introduced herself, and crossed one leg over the other, showing off a decent pair of legs. She leaned forward, flashing just the right amount of her cleavage and blinked flirtatiously in anticipation.

Christ, she was really laying it on thick. He chose not to answer her.

It must have annoyed her, because she sat back and fidgeted with her skirt as she casually mentioned, "Rachel tells me you're the boyfriend."

"I'm sorry, the what?" Peter's brows knit and he squinted at her.

"No, I mean...not Rachel's," she corrected, "I meant her sister."

"Olivia?" Peter wanted to clarify.

"So you are," she concluded.

"I don't...I'm not sure that..." he was stumbling, he felt like an idiot. He sighed and then stated ambiguously, "It's complicated."

She perked up at that and leaned in closer to him. "Well," she spoke lowly in a seductive tone, "seeing as it is New Year's Eve," her eyes darted to his chest, then back to his, "and everyone deserves a midnight kiss," her gaze flickered to his lips, "if you need any" she paused for emphasis, "assistance," her eyes locked on his again, "in that department, you just let me know."

Peter suddenly felt like he was an antelope being preyed upon by a ridiculously horny lion. She was definitely the predator type. He wondered how many victims she'd collect before the evening was over.

"Hey," Olivia's chilled voice broke the intense stare the girl had pinned Peter under.

"Hey there, Livia," Peter laughed nervously. This wasn't good. Especially given what he'd done.

The woman glanced over her shoulder at Olivia and backed up off of Peter. She stood and smoothed out her skirt that just barely covered her ass and remarked as she walked away, "It's nice to see you again, Liv."

Olivia hummed and smiled at her and mumbled under her breath, "I can't say the same for you."

She then turned and looked at Peter, "Remember, I'll still be here when midnight rolls around." She had the audacity to wink at him. He scrunched up his face.

"Are you alright?" Olivia asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Me?" he answered a bit confused, "Yeah, I think so."

"Don't worry about it, she does that to everyone," Olivia scoffed in the general direction of the woman.

"Who?" Peter still felt guilty about it.

"Candice," Olivia explained, "She's not one of the classier friends that Rachel has, but we've known her since high school." Olivia shrugged, "She's always been like that."

"Oh," he said, and cast his eyes to the floor.

"You want something to drink?" she shifted on her feet.

He nodded and tried to smile at her, but he couldn't. He was still angry with himself, and what had just happened only served as a harsh reminder. She smiled and turned on her heels. When she came back, she placed an ice cold beer bottle in his hand, then plopped down on the sofa next to him with a beer of her own. Instantly, she brought the bottle to her lips and tipped her head back, taking a huge swig. Not once in his time with the other her had he ever seen her take even a sip of alcohol. How had he just written that off? Olivia loves her alcohol. He knew that.

She noticed him watching her, so she eyed him back and asked curiously, "What?"

"Nothing," he smiled and sat back, finally taking a swig of his beer.

"Just appreciating the differences?" she quipped.

He choked, but managed to swallow down his drink.

"I know that she doesn't drink. I thought I was her for months. I missed this," she stated, taking another big gulp.

Olivia surprised herself with how easy she found it to talk about what happened. She found that talking about it actually helped her to feel better, something she'd most likely picked up in therapy.

He couldn't stop staring at her. The way her lips parted slightly to accept the bottle, how her throat rippled gently as she swallowed down the liquid, the satisfied sighs that escaped her. He missed her.

"I missed _you_, too," she stated, and laced her fingers through his.

He looked from her, down to their hands. This subtle gesture was so like her. The other her had never done anything like this at all. Never. She gently squeezed his hand and shifted closer to him, so that their thighs were just barely touching. They sat like that for most of the evening, drinking and talking occasionally about nothing. At one point, Olivia laughed because of something Peter said, and he laughed along with her. Then they stood and joined the rest of the guests as the final seconds left in 2010 ticked away, and as the clock struck midnight, they shared their second first kiss. Olivia tugged on Peter's hand, pulling him closer to her. She looked up at him with dark green eyes, and she smiled as his smokey blue ones gazed down at her before he leaned in slowly, allowing her time to escape. She didn't, and he tentatively pressed his lips to hers. It was short and sweet and lasted only a few seconds before he pulled back. But Olivia wasn't done. She carefully placed her hand on the back of his neck, and pulled his lips back down onto hers. She wasn't forceful or demanding; she was gentle, yet firm. She knew what she wanted, and she was good at reading what he wanted. Instinctively, his tongue ran across her lower lip, and to his astonishment, she let him in.

When his brain finally caught up with the rest of his body, he found himself on top of Olivia, making out with her behind a closed door, in a dark room. On a bed. He pulled back for air and sighed frustratedly.

"Olivia," he stilled her roaming hands with his, "I can't do this."

She looked up at him, just to see him, not demanding an explanation.

"I can't do this, because I'm not ready. It's too soon," he offered her one anyway. Everything still reminded him of what he'd done with the wrong person.

"Okay," she said. She didn't sound disappointed in the least.

Peter figured that she wasn't ready for this yet either. She rolled over to go to sleep. Olivia had had enough of the party. He got up and made to leave, but she stopped him.

"No, you can stay," she said pulling the covers down. "I mean, only if you want to?" she quickly added.

He climbed in next to her, pulled her into him, and let his eyes close. Seconds later they shot open.

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, "Walter!"

She turned and faced him, which kept him from shooting out of the bed as his brain had intended for his body.

"I saw him leave with Astrid earlier. She didn't tell you?" Olivia told him.

"No," he said hesitantly as he fished his phone out of his pocket, looking at it, "However, she did leave me a few messages."

"If you need to leave," she started. This time she did sound disappointed.

"No," he cut her off gently, smiling, "no." He'll have fun explaining this to Walter tomorrow.

He kissed her forehead and she snuggled closer to him. He wrapped his arms around her, and they fell asleep.

This Monday was the same as the last. The following weeks were consistently inconsistent. Most days, Olivia avoided him. She kept her distance, but she was never too far away. Peter watched as she worked through her emotions in an attempt to move past what had happened. He was nowhere near forgiving himself for what he'd done, and he was slowly accepting that a part of him would always hate himself. They were healing, albeit very slowly. However, at night, every once in a while, he'd get a call. She'd need him because she couldn't sleep, so he'd go over and climb into bed with her, and just hold her as she drifted off. He was finding it easier to fall asleep with her comforting presence resting in his arms.

When she finally found a new apartement in mid-January and had purchased new furniture, she would call him more often, or he would just show up, because he knew when she needed him. Either that, or he needed her. She'd make him breakfast in the morning, and he'd make her lunch or dinner, or he'd take her out. They were talking, a lot. Slowly but surely, they were finding their footing as a couple.


	5. Chapter 5

One evening, in early February, Olivia is sitting at her kitchen table in her glasses, feet propped up on a chair, looking over case information on her laptop. She glances over her frames at Peter, who's fixing dinner at the stove. Her gaze lingers on his pleasant form for longer than it should have, but she didn't care. She suspected he didn't either.

"Smells good," she mused, refocusing her attention on her work.

"You going to put that away, Livia?" he teased, preparing her plate.

She snapped her laptop shut, removed her glasses, and lifted her feet off of the chair as he pulled it out.

"Thanks," she smiled warmly at him as he placed a plate in front of her. She didn't bother waiting for him, and dug in.

"Jeez, Liv. Hungry much?" he laughed at her.

"Maybe if you weren't such a good cook," she argued.

"Flatterer," he rolled his eyes and took a bite.

"Shut up," she countered playfully, "you'd be lost without me."

"Ditto," he said. They smirked at each other.

While Olivia was finishing up washing the dishes, she remembered what day it was. She put the last of the dishes on the drying rack and turned suddenly, leaning against the counter. She stared at Peter, fiercely searching him for recognition. He was sipping his wine, but stopped when he saw the way she was looking at him.

"What?" he asked earnestly, standing and bringing his glass over to the sink.

She folded her arms across her chest, and answered his question with one of her own, "Do you remember what we were doing exactly one year ago today?"

He thought long and hard before retorting, "No, Livia, you're the one with the freakishly good memory so," he paused, and then it hit him, "Jacksonville."

"Yep," she said, unfolding her arms, slapping and rubbing her thighs. She looked at him, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh," he said knowingly, "you mean this?"

Peter cupped her face and leaned in slowly. He watched her eyes flutter closed, and got close enough for her to feel his breath against her lips. Then, as she leaned in to close the distance, he suddenly took three steps back.

"Ha!" he started, laughing at her when her eyes shot open, and she looked at him wildly confused.

"You're not funny, Peter!" she jokingly punched his arm, laughing.

"Hey now," he grasped her fists of fury with his hands and pulled her into a sweet kiss.

Her hands relaxed and he let them go as he pulled back, then went in for another kiss. Olivia wrapped her arms around him and deepened the kiss. She cautiously went for the buttons of his shirt, waiting for him to stop her. When he didn't, she aggressivly tore them open and pushed it off of him. She broke the kiss long enough for him to lift her shirt over her head. Olivia tugged at the waist of his jeans and lead him to her bed. He shoved hers down off of her hips and she stepped out of them. They had both already been barefoot, something that they just did for no reason while having dinner in her apartment. She undid his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and slid a hand inside his boxers. He was putty in her hands. After they'd stripped each other of their remaining articles of clothing, she laid back on the bed, pulling him on top of her.

Three glorious hours, a lot of panting and moaning, and copious amounts of gasps and screams later, Peter rolled off of her, unable to catch his breath. Olivia groaned contentedly beside him.

Peter waited until he could breathe somewhat regularly before he spoke, "That was..." his chest heaved slightly and he couldn't find the right word.

"Different?" she quipped cheekily, smirking at him. She was just as breathless as he.

"Yeah," he said honestly, "but definitely a good different." He breathed in and out, looked at her, and added, "A _better_ different."

Olivia turned her head sharply and looked at him, "Seriously?"

"Yeah," he shook his head vehemently, "infinitesimally better. That was...the best sex I've _ever_ had, by a long shot."

He saw her smile and he heard her laugh. He wasn't sure she believed him entirely, but he needed her to, because he was being totally truthful. Peter rolled onto his side and locked her eyes with his intense gaze.

"Livia, I'm being completely serious," he was imploringly earnest, "You have no idea how amazing you are."

Olivia blushed and was about to turn her head to hide her bashfulness, but he captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

When he pulled back, he looked mischievously down at her, and asked her seductively, "Can we do it again?"

She kissed him and rolled him onto his back, more than happily obliging his request. She leaned down and whispered "I love you" in his ear.

And that is how Peter and Olivia shared their first, and second, time. After that, it became like an addiction. At first they couldn't control it. Sometimes it would just overwhelm them and they'd go at each other with no restraint. It wasn't until they'd almost been caught in the lab that they decided they needed to come up with some means of curbing their feral craving.

A little over three and a half months later, Peter was antsy. Not because he was having trouble staying in a committed relationship. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He was on edge because of the little black box that he kept in his coat pocket. Peter wanted nothing more than to just whip it out and give it to her, ask her his quesiton, hear her say yes. However, he was waiting for a particular day, and the perfect moment. He just hoped that a perfect moment would arise on that particular day. He's in the lab pacing and talking to himself on this particualr day, until he makes the firm decision to head to her apartment. He knocks on her door, and she welcomes him graciously when she opens it. She sits on her sofa and he sits across from her in a chair. He's given up on waiting for _the_ moment, and decides to make one of his own.

"Olivia," he starts shakily, "I need to ask you something."

He stands, and she moves to follow him, but he tells her, "No, sit."

So she leans back, one foot on the ground, the other tucked beneath her knee. He stops in front of her, and looks at her.

"Livia," he begins again, "Okay, Olivia, I...you know...No..." He's muttering mostly to himself, trying to find the perfect way to say what he needs to say. She's just staring at him, waiting for him to spit out whatever is racing through his brain.

He's confident this time, "Olivia, I need you. I can't imagine my life without you. If I ever lost you again...Olivia, it would kill me. So, I was hoping that maybe...I don't know if you've ever thought about..." his voice trails off as his nervousness bubbles up and he loses his confidence.

At this point, Olivia knows exactly where he's going with this. She waits patiently for him to regain his composure, and smirks as he trips over his words. She's not surprised when he gets down on one knee before her, pulls a small black box from his pocket, cracks it open, holds it out to her, looks into her eyes and says, "Olivia, I love you. Please marry me."

Olivia doesn't say anything. She simply tucks her hair behind her ear absent-mindedly, takes the box from his shaking hand, removes the ring, places it between his thumb and forefinger, and slides her left hand into his palm. Peter slips the ring onto her finger and huffs out a ridiculously relieved breath. He's grinning from ear to ear and she can't wipe the stupid, incandessantly happy smile off her face.

"I love you," he breathes out again.

"I love you too," she whispers right before pressing her lips to his.

So, Peter and Olivia have been officially engaged as of the twentieth of May, 2011.


End file.
